


All There's Left To Do Is Watch It Burn

by resistate



Category: Independence Day (Movies)
Genre: Asshole David Levinson, Bad Decisions, F/M, Failboats, Failboats In Love, M/M, Misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resistate/pseuds/resistate
Summary: David wishes he could say he has no idea how they got here.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Addison R (beyond_belief)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/gifts).



> This fic takes place several years before the events of _Independence Day_ (1996). It does not draw on any _Independence Day: Resurgence_ (2016) canon.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta readers.

When David pushes open the door to the conference room the first person he sees is Connie. Which, okay, ninety-nine times out of a hundred Connie is the first person he sees in any room. Not because she's beautiful or—captivating, David guesses the word is, although Connie is both of these things. It's probably because she's the person he wants to be around more than anyone else, the person he is always looking for. It's late when David arrives, so late he hadn't been sure the event would still be running, that he would catch Connie here at all. Late enough that David can chalk his sappiness up to it being the end of a long day.

Connie glances over and sees him. Her face lights up and David thinks yeah, maybe coming down a day early was the right decision. Connie comes over and gives him a hug and a peck on the lips. When David looks around properly he sees that Connie and the candidate she's working with, Tom, are the only two people in the room. Well, and now David. Looking around he can see chairs scattered around tables, banners in the party colors tacked to the walls and tables, the remains of catered appetizers and drinks.

'You remember Tom, don't you?' says Connie. David remembers Tom. Tom is captivating in his own way, with his aw-shucks smile and easy, confident swagger. And David thinks yeah, coming down here early was definitely the right fucking decision.

'Of course I remember Tom,' says David. 'How could I forget the Great White Hope of nineteen-ninety whatever year this is we're in now?' He grins to take some of the sting out of the sentiment. David can be genial when he wants to be.

Tom claps David on the back and at the same time he shakes David's outstretched hand with the perfect amount of force. David would feel like an arrogant son-of-a-bitch slapping someone's back in greeting but Tom makes it seem like just the thing. David has met Tom twice now and in his experience Tom is the kind of guy who always says or does the right thing at the right time. Unlike, say, David.

'Happy New Year, David,' says Tom, even though it's the middle of January already. That's right, you'd damn well better remember me, thinks David.  All the same a small part of him is pleased that Tom, who must talk to thousands of people every week on the campaign trail, remembers David. David can smell whiskey on his breath, mingled with some brand of testosterone-on-steroids cologne David only vaguely recognizes.

'It looks like, ah, like democracy had a couple too many drinks, maybe made some bad decisions and threw up all over the floor,' says David.

Tom grins at him, loosens his tie with two fingers, rolls his broad shoulders. 'The idea here, David, is that me and your wife move people along into making some good decisions.'

Tom's a handsome man; handsomer than David, certainly, but not so handsome that that's all people see in him. He's a little too aware of his charm to be David's type, exactly. He prefers people who carry their confidence like Connie. Connie is good, and she knows she's good, but she's not overly interested in making sure everyone else in the room knows how good she is. Unless she needs to, which David knows happens far more often than it should because people are fucking idiots. Still, Tom might be the second person David would look at, anytime he walks into a room.

The room they're in now still has a buzz to it even with almost everyone gone. There's a half-empty glass of wine and mostly-empty tumbler on the table Connie and Tom were sitting at when David came in, but Connie and Tom both seem infected by the mood of the no-doubt successful event, giddy on something other than alcohol.

Tom, still grinning, says, 'You look like a guy who knows how to have a good time.' David is absurdly pleased by this even though he knows he doesn't and he knows Tom hasn't known him long enough to know anything much about him. 'Can I get you a drink?' Tom asks, walking over to a table littered with bottles of all sorts.

'A drink. Yes. Coke if you have it. No ice.' David's been cutting back on the booze lately. He doesn't much like himself these days when he's drunk; he gets a bit mean, finds himself acting like a jerk. Stops even trying to talk himself out of the dark thoughts circling round and round his brain, like they're a circuit with no gap, nothing to stop the flow. David tries not to dwell on the fact that he doesn't much like himself when he's not drunk either.

Tom pulls up a chair for David at the table like a perfect fucking gentleman and asks, 'Do you mind waiting for a minute while we finish up?' 

David shrugs, sure, no problem. He drops his overnight bag on the floor beside the chair and sits down. Connie grins at him and doesn't even mention she was expecting him tomorrow at her apartment for brunch, and not tonight at the tail end of whatever the hell event this was in the endless parade of the campaign.

David drinks his Coke like a good little boy and tries to relax. He half listens to Connie and Tom talk about numbers and polls and half tries to read a trashy eco-thriller he'd stuck a bookmark in on the train once it was clear it wasn't doing much to distract him from his thoughts. The downside of not drinking as much is that at least when he was drunk he could blame his dark thoughts on the alcohol.

It's comforting in a way to sit here next to Connie and read while she works. It's like old times. David finishes his Coke. Connie will surely be ready to go by now, he thinks, but then Tom gets up and gets himself another whiskey and soda at the makeshift bar. He gets a glass of white wine for Connie without asking what she's drinking, and asks David, 'Want another Coke?'

David says, 'Sure,' and considers getting Tom to add a slug of whiskey in case it would help him calm the fuck down. In the end he keeps his mouth shut.

It's been a long day. David's mind may or may not be playing tricks on him, but he doesn't think he's imagining the way Tom's gaze lingers on him, or the purposeful way he brushes his fingers along David's when he passes him his drink.

David shrugs it off and goes back to his book. He's finding it hard to concentrate. He doesn't want to be sitting here in this hotel conference room. The florescent lighting overhead is bad for his eyes. So is the paisley carpet underfoot. David wants to be at home with his wife already. Connie says something, and Tom laughs, and the ecology in this thriller is complete garbage and David is done with all of this.

'Seriously though, Tom,' says David. Tom turns to David like he's prepared to hang on to every word David says. It's disconcerting. 'You ever think about getting yourself your own damn wife instead of monopolizing mine?'

David regrets saying this the minute it's out of his mouth. It's probably not fair to Connie, who is probably just doing her fucking job. David thinks about trying to pass it off as a tasteless joke, but Connie and Tom are already laughing.

'What's so funny?' asks David.

Connie starts shifting through the piles of papers stacked haphazardly on the table. Tom is doing that thing where he tries to hide behind his hand. David can't tell if he means it or not but it's charming as fuck. All it does is make David more annoyed than he already was.

Connie passes him a pile of political bios with photos attached to them. David flips through them, looks at Connie. 'What, you fancy yourself a kind of shadchanit? This is like the shidduch now?'

'You sound like your father,' Connie says.  She crosses her arms, leans back in her chair. 'It's tacky,' she says, most of the laughter gone from her voice. 'But in this game, at this level....'

 She leans close to David, close enough that he catches the wine lingering on her breath, and lowers her voice to a mock whisper. 'The problem is getting this one,' —a jerk of her head toward Tom— 'to stop flirting with everything that moves.'

David looks over at Tom. 'I like people,' Tom says. 'I didn't get to see a lot of people in the Air Force. I'm making up for lost time, I guess. But Connie's right. I need to think about settling down.' He takes a drink, looks at David with a flawless candid expression. He even shrugs self-deprecatingly. 'I want to settle down.'

He's known Tom for two minutes and the part about settling down sounds still smells like bullshit to David. 'You saw guys,' he says.

'What,' Tom says, perfectly pleasantly.

'In the Air Force. You saw guys.'

Tom says, 'You're damn right I saw guys.' There's a slight edge to his voice now. David is ridiculously pleased to have fucked with Tom's cool exterior.

'Oh boy,' Connie says.

David picks up the top bio from the stack. 'So what do you thing about Renata? Born and raised in West Virginia, likes horses and banking, oops, sorry, that's "baking" and democracy—'

'David—' Connie says. He doesn't think he's imaging the subtle warning in her tone.

'You're right, honey, this is harder than it looks,' says David.

Tom is shaking his head. 'Nah, I met Renata at that, what was the thing, Connie, with the lobsters—'

'Oh, that fundraiser in Maine last month,' says Connie.

'—right, the fundraiser and we didn't really hit it off.' Tom finishes his whiskey and soda, sets it down carefully on the table, wraps his hands around his glass. 'Too much baking, not enough banking, I guess.' Tom's had a lot to drink even since David arrived, but aside from a faint glassiness to his expression he's holding it well. David is impressed in spite of himself.

'I did kind of like Marilyn,' Tom offers, diffidently.

David exchanges a look with Connie.

'Marilyn,' says David. 'Marilyn...' He rummages through the bios. 'Aha, Marilyn. Went to school at—'

'Give me that,' says Tom, irritably. He yanks the bio out of David's hand shoves it in the pocket of the suit jacket hanging over the back of his chair. He tries to grab for the other bios but David moves them out of Tom's reach.

'Uh-uh,' he says. 'You get with Marilyn, you don't get all of the other girls. Women. You don't get any of the other women.'

This time when David looks at Connie she just looks annoyed. The comfortable atmosphere of a few moments ago, when the two of them were united against Tom, has fizzled.

'You ready, Connie?' David asks.

'I just need to finish up this one thing. Give me five more minutes,' Connie says. She doesn't look up from the document she's gone back to annotating.

'It's late,' David says. He lets some of the day into his voice. 'C'mon, honey, I came all this way to see you.'

'We have all day tomorrow,' she says, mildly. 'And Sunday.'

David shoves back his chair and stands up. Connie looks up sharply. They stare at each other for a moment, until Connie presses her lips together and looks back down at her document.

David gets up and claps Tom on the shoulder heartily as he passes behind him, because they're all friends now aren't they? He bites back on asking Tom if he's sure he wants to get married. He hasn't seen Connie in a week. He doesn't want to fuck this visit up with his stupid mouth.

Since he's up and he's sure as hell not sitting back down, David wanders around picking up the waste of resources that are paper plates and napkins and throwing them in the trash. Connie comes over and sets her wine glass on the table holding all of the other glasses David's been collecting.

 'What the hell is wrong with you tonight?' says Connie.

'Tonight?' says David.

Connie looking at him like she's looking at him right now—with concern in her eyes, like she cares about David out of all the people in the world—could break David. If he let it.

He taps his watch. 'It's tomorrow,' he says.

It's a weak joke but Connie gets it. Connie always gets him. Her voice softens slightly. 'I'm getting this stuff out of the way now so it won't get in the way this weekend.'

'I know,' he says. It's the closest he's going to get to apologizing. Connie is still looking at him. He reaches over and taps her lightly on the cheekbone. She smiles at him. He trails his fingers over her cheek and down along the tender skin of her jaw. Connie leans into him, chasing his touch. And this maybe isn't the time, but fuck it. She's his goddamn wife. He leans down and finds that Connie's mouth is already coming up to meet his.

Their mouths part and their tongues meet—which is pretty ridiculous, when David stops to think about it, autonomous tongues—but it feels amazing, Connie always feels amazing and David tries to stop thinking of himself and Connie as two separate bodies—two separate tongues—but he can't, he's too caught up in the conceit, and he winds up laughing right inside Connie's mouth. He feels Connie's mouth laugh too, and then Connie is pulling back abruptly from their kiss. She's still holding onto David by his elbows but now her mouth is by his ear. 'Tom,' she whispers.

Right, Tom. Tom seems very distant now that David's got Connie next to him.

When David turns his head, he sees Tom is watching them. Tom has clearly _been_ watching them, if his relaxed posture and the way he's unashamedly meeting David's gaze are any indication.

Connie's swung around so she's standing beside David. She has her palm pressed against his forearm in warning. David takes a deep breath and figures he can be magnanimous. He's going home with Connie. And Tom—Tom who could get anyone he wanted, and not with his looks even, but with the but the way he looks at people like he actually sees them—Tom is going home with crumpled sheet of paper.

'Okay, okay. I'll give you this one. It's the alcohol,' David says, 'It, ah, it, ah, makes people act like—' Assholes, he wants to say, but that seems like it would be crossing a line. And David's supposed to be good at this, at diffusing situations with words. 'It makes people—okay, it's maybe not just the alcohol,' he says, meaning he's guilty too: of opening his mouth right now, of acknowledging Tom's misstep, even with his Cokes, no ice. Connie snort-laughs beside him like she gets exactly what he means. And it's Connie, so she probably does.

Tom's smile has slid downhill into kind of a smirk while David's been rambling. He's still staring at David. Hell, maybe at Connie too. David wants to ask if this is weird because it can't just be him, can it? Tom gets up and comes over to the bar.

'All I'm saying,' says Tom, as he pours himself a couple of fingers of whiskey, 'is don't let me stop you.'

David must snap because the next thing he's aware of is being so close up in Tom's face that he can see the other man's pores.

'Tom,' says Connie, carefully, from somewhere behind him. David knows that voice; he's been on the receiving end of that voice. A distant part of him is surprised Connie's not using it on him right now.

'So, let me get this straight,' says David. 'You're saying, you're saying—' And then David stops, laughs as he realizes he doesn't particularly care what Tom is saying. David wants to say what _he_ wants to say, or at least the closest thing he has the stomach for. 'Are you saying you want to sleep with my wife?' David asks. He's pleased by how level his voice is.

No one says anything for a long moment. David can hear the radiators sputtering as they pump heat into the conference room on this winter's night. David is so cold there might actually be ice in his veins. He flexes his hand, tries out this theory.

Tom, David realizes, hasn't backed away from David at all.

'Yes,' says Tom.

David can hear Connie's sharp intake of breath, and then he can't hear anything because Tom is—Tom is, for some inexplicable reason, kissing him. And David's tongue is fraternizing with Tom's tongue and apparently David's tongue is not as exclusive as he would have thought – and, fuck. Connie. David wrenches away, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

Tom goes back to sipping his drink like nothing fucking happened. Connie is leaning against the wall like it might be all that's holding her up. Or maybe David would just like to think that. David goes and stands beside Connie and she puts out her hand and David grabs it and holds on. The pieces had been there, David thinks. But he somehow hadn't put them together in this arrangement until now.

'What the fuck was that?' says Connie. She's looking at Tom.

Tom says, 'If we're talking about what I want, it's pretty simple.' He lifts his glass to Connie and David in turn. 'I want to sleep with both of you.'

Connie's hand on David's tightens so much it starts to hurt.

Tom finishes his drink with one long pull and sets his glass down. It clatters loudly against the table. 'You two have a think about that. I'm going to the, the—' Tom waves a vague hand in the direction of the hallway and David laughs, actually laughs, at Tom saying what he said just now and yet somehow not having the ability to say, David doesn't even know, 'take a leak,' or something, out loud.

Tom leaves. As soon as the door swings closed behind him Connie yanks her hand from David's.

'Why in the hell would you say that?' demands Connie.

'Tom was the one doing the, I don't know, the ogling! Is he always like this?' asks David.

'No,' says Connie, wearily. She sits down at the table. 'No, he's not.' Tom is somehow—incredibly—solid ground in this minefield of a conversation. He's a safer topic than Connie, or David himself, David guesses. He sits down across from Connie.

Connie makes a frustrated noise. 'This isn't a very good idea,' she says.

David hasn't asked his wife if she's sleeping with Tom. If she says yes—if she says yes, David is going to have to be the kind of man who does something with that information. He loves Connie. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when he wakes up and Connie's not in bed beside him, when she's miles away in the dark, in DC, working on Tom's campaign—David is terrified that he wouldn't actually leave. That he wouldn't have the courage, or the grace, to walk away without a backwards thought.

When he'd walked in earlier tonight Connie and Tom had appeared completely professional. Connie's lipstick had been flawless; her amber hair had fallen neatly to her shoulders as it always did. Her blouse had been tucked in, as had Tom's dress shirt. His tie had still been in place; his hair had been tidy enough. There had been no traces of lipstick on his mouth.

David had felt bizarrely deflated. All day at work, and then on the subway, on the train, on the metro, he'd had visions of bursting in on them and discovering all. He had wanted to avenge his wounded pride. He'd been almost disappointed not to have had the chance.

'Oh, come on, honey. Why don't we try it and see how we get on?'

Connie looks at him like he's turned into a three-eyed fish. 'You have got to be kidding me.'

The giddy atmosphere Connie and Tom had shared earlier seems to have infected him too, but on a darker register. David shakes his head.

'Why?' asks Connie, her voice rising. 'What is there about any of this that makes you think this could possibly be a good idea? Sleeping with other people is not a fun thing to do on the weekend, David.'

He wishes he knew if the reason she thinks it's a bad idea is because she and Tom are already sleeping together. 

'This isn't college,' Connie continues. 'The is the real world.' David wishes he knew when his ideas about the world had drifted so far off course of Connie's. He supports her choices, of course he does, but he's tired of living apart. He wants to do something that he wants to do for once in their lives.

'It's tomorrow and I want us to do it,' says David.

He meets Connie's eyes. Neither of them look away. Connie looks angry, and like she needs a good night's sleep, but mostly she looks like she's trying to figure out what's going on. David wants to take her by the hand and lead her to bed and stay there until everything makes sense again.

'I want to do it,' he says. 'I don't see why that's not a good enough reason.'

He has lots of reasons for wanting to do this besides Connie not wanting to. 'I want to do this with you,' David says.

The door scrapes open. 'Taxi in five,' Tom says. 'What do you say, are you in?' His voice is casual, as if he doesn't much care what their answer is.

Connie turns toward Tom. 'Yes,' she says.

Wrong fucking answer, thinks David, and then: Wow, where the fuck did that come from?

///

David gets into the taxi, shimmies across to the far seat because he can be play well with others when he wants to. Connie surprises him by climbing in next and sitting on his lap like she used to back whenever they crammed too many people in someone's too-small beater. Connie hasn't sat in his lap in a car since they graduated, probably. David thinks about saying something, but there are worse things and he hasn't seen Connie in six long days. And what would he say—we're going home with your boss to probably have sex with your boss, but hey, honey, don't you think you draping yourself all over me is a little forward?

Tom sits miles away. He's in the far corner, hands clasped behind his head, elbows resting against the back of the seat. Every time David glances over at Tom, Tom appears at ease; like he does this sort of thing all the time. Who knows, thinks David. Who knows what the fuck this guy gets up to on his own time? Maybe he does.

David is tired. Work was a long slog and traveling down here was an even longer slog. Public transport is good for the environment but even David has to admit there are days when it's bad for the soul. It's Connie's turn next time; she'll probably even make the effort. She hasn't missed a weekend so far and neither has David. Connie has her head tucked up against David's  neck and she smells faintly of the same soap she's been using since he met her; since before that, probably. If he closes his eyes he can almost make believe they're back in college, only with Connie inexplicably wearing a suit—maybe they're on the way to a job interview?—instead of her usual jeans and flannel shirt.

David works one hand under Connie's blouse and the waistband of her skirt and presses his palm flat against the curve of her hip, anchoring himself. Connie's skin is burning up. If they were in college he'd have a raging hard-on. Right now David is too keyed-up; the arousal that had been building while the three of them had been inside has all but disappeared. He does relax into it whenever the motion of the cab jostles Connie against his dick and also, David notes, whenever he glances across the cab at the sprawl of Tom's body. It occurs to him that he would like to sleep with Tom. This sobers David, takes him away from his stupid college fantasies and back to—well, back to the real world. How in the hell did they get to this point if this is only now occurring to him?

///

Tom lives in a fourth-floor walk-up, the bastard. He goes up the stairs ahead of Connie and David, and David admires the view because never let it be said that he doesn't know how to get with the fucking program. Connie flags behind after the first two flights. She bends down to take off her heels and then just stands there on the landing between the second and third floors. She's been uncharacteristically quiet since they left the hotel. David has no idea what she's thinking.

'What's going on?' David asks. 'Here, let me take those,' he says, reaching for Connie's shoes. When he gets close Connie reaches for him, pulls him toward her, and then her mouth is on his, hot and wet and greedy. Her shoes clatter on the concrete of the landing and in the back of his mind David thinks that Tom has no doubt turned around; is no doubt watching them again, the red-blooded son-of-a-bitch.

David backs Connie up against the wall, presses a knee between her legs. They part easily enough and the touch, the taste of Connie is so well-worn, so thoroughly familiar and yet he can never, ever get enough.

Connie doesn't taste like wine anymore. Sometime when David wasn't paying attention she must have eaten some mints or something. 'You taste like candy canes,' David murmurs when they pause for breath, because he is incapable of not running his mouth when he and Connie are like this. 'So, you know, like capitalism.' David is rewarded with the curve of Connie's smile against his mouth.

Then she whispers, so low he can barely hear it, 'What are we doing?' David shakes his head wordlessly, but Connie pulls back when he tries to kiss her again. 'This—Tom—this isn't how you solve this problem,' she says.

David braces his hands on the wall behind Connie, pulls back so he can see her face. Connie's expression is serious, and sad, and David wants to close his eyes so he doesn't have to look at her face. He keeps his eyes open. 'What problem?' he says. 'Who's got problems?'

The change in Connie is subtle but David knows her like he knows anything. He knows Connie like he's never known anyone else. Her whole body is tense, on alert. David's not the only one who knows that what he said is a challenge. This is the closest they've come to talking about whatever it is that's going on with the two of them.

Almost immediately he wants to go back in time and stop himself from opening his stupid mouth. He doesn't want her to say yes; if she says yes they'll have to face things he doesn't want to face. He doesn't want her to say no, because Connie doesn't lie. If she tells him she doesn't want to do whatever the hell it is they're doing with Tom, really doesn't want to do it, then it's the simplest fucking thing in the world. They won't do it, and after this weekend he'll go back to his empty life in the city until next weekend and the one after that and the one after that, and in the meantime Tom is right here. He'd be stupid to not go after someone as smart and funny and beautiful as Connie. Tom might be an idiot, but David doesn't think he's stupid.

Connie doesn't answer his question, and David doesn't press. He thinks maybe she wants whatever is happening between them to be as unreal as he does.

'You know I love you,' Connie says. She's leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, like all she wants to do is go to sleep. David picks up Connie's shoes, hands them to her. It's cold in the unheated stairwell and he wants to get moving. 'I know,' he says.

They rejoin Tom on the stairs.

///

Tom's lights are already on, which makes David twitchy, but he figures a lecture on energy conservation will fall on deaf ears. Tom tells them he's not home a lot. David stands in the cramped entranceway and looks at the small living room and the even smaller kitchen, and can believe it. Connie takes his and Tom's jackets and her coat and puts them in a closet in the short hallway leading to the kitchen. Because it's obviously a closet and Connie's looking for something to do, wonders David, or because she's been here before?

Tom offers them beer and they both accept. David takes one mostly because he doesn't want to have to wait while Tom tries to sort out an alternative. He saw the inside of Tom's fridge, over Tom's shoulder while Tom was getting beer, and this is quicker. Now that they're here David wants to get this over with. 

The silence is getting heavy again. 'To us,' David says. No one says anything as they click their glasses together. David doesn't drink, because he's not drinking, but then it starts to feel symbolic of something so he has a mouthful. It's sour and tangy. David sets his bottle on the counter before he downs the whole thing for courage or something equally as fanciful.

Connie takes about a minute to drink half her bottle. Tom sips at his and David thinks uncharitably that yeah, Tom had better reign himself in or he's not going to be able to get it up. David's dick twitches at the apparently very interesting thought of Tom's dick. David scraps his thumb against the label on his Budweiser, peeling it off in sections. He wonders what the hell they're playing at.

'So how is this going to work?' asks David, because he always wants to know how things work. If politics is Connie and Tom's game, David's game is chess. David personally believes that chess offers far more creative possibilities than its detractors would have people think. Still, chess pieces move in circumscribed ways; bodies are the same only to a certain extent. David is way out of his depth here.

Connie is clutching the neck of her bottle like if she just holds on tightly enough, it will stand between her and everything bad in the world. Tom sets down his beer, swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. David watches, mesmerized in spite of himself. 'It works however you want it to work, David,' says Tom.

'Help us out here, _Tom_ ,' says David.  He wants Connie, he doesn't ever not want Connie, and he wants Tom, but he has no idea how to get from where they are now, each of them holding their corner, to anywhere that's not here, let alone to Tom's bedroom. At least, David hopes Tom has a bedroom. This is the tiniest apartment David's ever seen. Maybe Tom sleeps on the sofa.

Tom takes a step across the kitchen and he's in front of Connie. Whatever he says to her is so soft David can't hear it. Connie breaks into a smile and David thinks, oh, you're good.

Tom lifts Connie's hair and starts kissing Connie's neck gently in the same spot David had kissed earlier. Connie's eyes are closed and she's fiddling with her beer bottle like she doesn't know what to do with it. In two steps David is at Connie's side, taking her bottle and putting it on the counter. A small mean part of him is glad to see Connie at a loss, for once, but a larger part of him feels bone-deep how wrong it is. He doesn't care anymore if she's nervous because she's slept with Tom before or because she hasn't. He just wants Connie to go back to being herself.

Tom is mouthing at Connie's collarbone now. David stands behind Connie and rests his hands lightly on her shoulders. 'I love you, too,' he wants to say. 'I love you so much,' but it's not the time and it's not the place. 'Hey. Hey, hey,' he whispers instead, bending his head so his mouth is against Connie's ear, because it's all he can trust himself to do; to do or to say or to be.

It's all the reassurance he has but it maybe helps because Connie rests her weight against him and seems to relax slightly. Tom starts mouthing at one of Connie's nipples through her bra, one of the plain beige ones she wears so they don't show under her white blouses. Connie moans, and David feels himself start to give in to the desires of his body, of Connie's body settled against him, of Tom; the swell of his dick in his dress pants clearly visible now.

Connie's elbows lift as she starts to unbutton her blouse, and Tom is forced to move back. He turns his full attention to David, his mouth wet and slick. Connie pauses, lifts one elbow higher to capture her yawn.

David looks steadily back at Tom. 'My wife is tired,' he says. 'Are you going to take her to bed.' It's not a question.

'Yes,' Connie mumbles. Her breath is hot against David's neck. 'Both of you. Take me to bed.'

///

David wakes up pressed against Connie's warm body. It's distracting enough that it takes him a moment to realize the tinny noise he can hear is a phone ringing right next to his ear. David fumbles for the receiver until he realizes it's a cell phone. Of course Tom would have a cell phone, David thinks. He finally puts his hand on the phone and manages to answer it. He hopes the ringing hasn't woken Connie too much. The caller turns out to be Marilyn.

Tom had said last night, afterwards, that it was okay; he would sleep on the sofa. He'd left his bed, a double, to Connie and David. David tells Marilyn that he'll pass her over to Tom in just a sec. He manages to pull on some trousers mostly one-handed and goes into Tom's living room. It looks as sad as it had the night before, papers scattered all over the coffee table and countless empty mugs and take-out cups on every surface including the floor.

David picks his way through the mess. Tom is awake, sitting on the edge of the sofa dressed in an unbuttoned dress shirt and not, David guesses, much else. The blanket he slept under is draped across his knees and he's rummaging through some papers spread out on the table in front of him. He looks up and sees David.

'So. That wasn't the worst idea you've ever had,' says Tom. He grins at David.

David laughs. 'You've known me for like, fifteen minutes,' he points out.

'Yeah, but Connie tells me things,' says Tom.

David seriously, genuinely considers punching the smile right off Tom's face. How the fuck this guy isn't wandering around with two permanent black eyes, David has no idea. Instead he drops the phone on Tom's lap, hears him say, 'Marilyn,' a moment later, like he's really fucking pleased to hear her voice.

David heads back to the bedroom. Connie is sitting up in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, the morning sun lighting up her naked skin; making a halo around her like she's a saint in a medieval painting, making it look like she could catch on fire at any moment.

Connie grins at him and it's like the sun coming up after a long, dark winter. You were supposed to save me from myself, thinks David. It seems like the most reasonable thought in the world. 'You should get dressed,' he says roughly.

He stands there wishing he hadn't said it, or that he could take it back.

Connie's chin goes up. Something drains from her until the sun still streaming in the window is the only vibrant thing the room.

David grabs his shirt off the floor and puts it on, starts buttoning the cuffs. 'Going to get breakfast,' he says, like he and Connie are at home and it's a normal Saturday morning. 'Be back soon.'

He jams his feet into his shoes at the door, grabs a jacket and leaves. It's not until he's halfway down the block that he realizes it's Tom's jacket from last night. Tom's wallet is in one of the pockets, which is convenient since David has also realized he'd forgotten his back at Tom's.

David pulls Marilyn's neatly folded bio from the jacket's breast pocket and crumples it into a vicious little ball. He wants to throw it into the road but he compromises by carrying it in a clenched fist until he spots a trash can. He tosses it and doesn't slow to see if it's gone in or not. He crosses the street toward the diner on the opposite corner, the one that looks like it does take-out. He might get some breakfast sandwiches or something. For all three of them, because it's not like Tom has the sense to stock up on anything except lousy beer. He might as well, he thinks. He might as fucking well.

END


End file.
